Chapter 3 - SOMEONE INSIDE MY COMPANY WAS STEALING MEDICINE
By eight the next morning, three people knew I was investigating Bellacort.
Me.
Marco.
And my chief compliance officer, Helen Ward.
That was two people too many for comfort.
The shipments tied to Gordon Pike were small enough not to trigger automatic review.
Five cases here.
Eight there.
High-value cardiac medication routed through private clinics, then rebilled through shell entities.
Someone had designed the pattern to look boring.
Boring theft was the hardest kind to catch.
Marco placed a file on my desk.
“Gordon Pike.”
I opened it.
Former hospital food-service director.
Opened Marino’s Table seven years earlier with money from an investment group.
No criminal record.
Two civil complaints from former employees.
Both settled.
Then Marco slid over another page.
“His investor.”
I read the name.
Thomas Bellacort.
My uncle.
My father’s younger brother.
The man who had spent twenty years insisting I was destroying the family by turning Bellacort from a private operation into a legitimate corporation.
I looked up.
“Uncle Thomas owns the restaurant?”
“Twenty-eight percent through a holding company.”
That changed everything.
My father had founded Bellacort Medical Cold Chain Systems as a legitimate business.
The other Bellacort operations had not always been legitimate.
My father died when I was twenty-nine.
I spent the next decade severing every criminal relationship attached to the family name.
Thomas hated me for it.
But even he knew better than to steal medical supply.
At least I thought he did.
Then Marco handed me another file.
Walter Doyle.
Sixty-one.
Former refrigeration engineer.
Worked for Bellacort eighteen years ago.
I stopped reading.
“Worked for us?”
“Before your time running the company.”
“What did he do?”
“Facility design. Emergency backup systems. Pharmaceutical cold rooms.”
“And why did he leave?”
Marco looked at me.
“He didn’t resign.”
“What?”
“He was fired.”
“By who?”
Marco’s expression answered before his words.
“Your father.”
That afternoon, I returned to Marino’s Table.
Same faded flannel.
Same boots.
Same Corolla.
Cassie noticed me immediately.
“You came back.”
“That sounds disappointed.”
“I’m deciding.”
She placed a menu down.
“I thought maybe you’d pick somewhere cheaper after last night.”
“I haven’t financially recovered from the water yet.”
She smiled.
A real smile.
Then caught herself.
“What are you doing here?”
“Dinner.”
“Alone?”
“So far.”
She studied me.
“You always this strange?”
“Only around expensive wine.”
I ordered the cheapest pasta.
Cassie did not judge me.
That mattered more than it should have.
When Gordon disappeared into the office, I asked quietly,
“How is your father?”
Her face closed.
“Fine.”
“Cassie.”
“You heard too much last night.”
“I heard enough to know something is wrong.”
“You can’t help.”
“What if I know someone at Bellacort?”
She laughed softly.
“You know someone everywhere for a broke repairman.”
“Occupational networking.”
She shook her head.
Then whispered,
“My dad used to work for Bellacort.”
I already knew.
“What happened?”
“He found something.”
My pulse slowed.
“What?”
“He never told me.”
“Then why was he fired?”
Cassie looked toward Gordon’s office.
“Because he refused to sign a maintenance certification.”
“For what system?”
She hesitated.
Then gave me the secret.
“A medical storage facility in New Jersey.”
May you like
She looked directly at me.
“Three weeks after my dad refused to sign it, six people died.”
